Meantime Sheldon was snugly bestowed in a cushioned seat beside his good friend, the doctor, who was plying him with a thousand questions concerning his affairs, prospects, etc. After he had become satisfied on these points, he recollected Sheldon had mentioned some business as the cause of his sudden visit.
"What was it you said about business bringing you so unexpectedly?" he inquired. "So, I would not have enjoyed this pleasure had inclination alone biased your feelings!"
"You wrong me, sir," returned Sheldon, "by such an insinuation. I would have visited you in the summer, in any event. I merely intended to say business hurried my arrival. Our magazine, several months ago, issued a set of prizes for the best poem and tale. The articles have been received, and I commissioned to award the authoress, who, it appears, is a resident of your city."
"Indeed!" said the doctor. "Then we've a literary genius among us. What is her name?"
"She writes under a nomme de plume."
"And what is that?"
"Woodland Winnie."
The good doctor sprang to his feet with such remarkable quickness as to overturn the tray of oranges on the stand beside him, and they went rolling over the carpet in all directions, while he clapped his hands and roared again and again with convulsing laughter. Sheldon was dumb-founded.
"Good!" exclaimed the doctor, in a tone of gleeful chuckling. "Ha, ha, ha! I declare I shall die a laughing. So cunning, the witch,—never to tell me!"
"Do you know the lady?" asked Sheldon in amaze, gazing on his friend's extravagant demonstrations of mirth and joy.